


5 Times Steve Was Interrupted While Trying To Paint, And The One Time He Wasn't.

by RestInReesesPieces



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Joy of Painting (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Returns, Civil War? What Civil War?, Crack, Family Dynamics, Free Indirect Speech, Fun stuff happens I promise, I Tried, I hope, I know literature terms, I only know the one in 1642-1651, I watched so much Bob Ross for this, Is that a shrek reference?, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, No Beta, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Oh wait, Phil Swift reference, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Slightly - Freeform, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers-centric, Steve and Sam live together after tws, Think I got all the tags, a surprising lack of actual art being done, blink and you miss it - Freeform, can be read as platonic or romantic, darlene is the mvp, i love them, its not all angst, look at all that damage, slightly OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 15:43:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20509469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RestInReesesPieces/pseuds/RestInReesesPieces
Summary: Steve, Bob Ross and the inability of being able to finish his paintings. Enough said.





	1. Mighty Mountain Lake

**Author's Note:**

> The pain in his chest felt like Schmidt punching him. It felt like ice, cracking and then reforming quickly around him, freezing him. It felt like pneumonia on a collapsed lung. It felt like seventy years of grief.
> 
> The original Bob Ross video - can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4vXB2R8ybDE)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pain in his chest felt like Schmidt punching him. It felt like ice, cracking and then reforming quickly around him, freezing him. It felt like pneumonia on a collapsed lung. It felt like seventy years of grief.

Sometimes, when Steve turned off all the lights on his floor the darkness would become suffocating and remind him of the ice he wasted seventy years of his life in. Tonight was one of those nights, but instead of puffing up his chest and just ‘getting on with it’ like they would’ve done, he decided to try something new. 

Slowly, Steve switched his lights on, setting them to a dim yellow tone. If he squinted, Steve could pretend he was back home, a chill seeping in through the cracks in the wall, the neighbours upstairs having nosiy make up sex and Bucky’s heavy snoring... Steve chastised himself when he found his thoughts drifting back to his best friend, who died seventy years ago. But to Steve, it was still so recent. So real. Watching helplessly as Bucky’s fingers grazed his before the rail gave out and Bucky fell, and just kept falling until no one would ever find him again.

Steve shook himself and Bucky’s petrified scream filtered out of his ears. Not tonight. Tonight Steve was going to try painting again, for the first time in what seemed like forever. He grabbed the assortment of oil paints from the cupboard and, for the first time since he’d woken up in the future, found something to be pleased about. The abundance of things. But, like everything these days, the more Steve thought about it he realised how different everything was. It left him feeling even more alone than before. So much for his intentions to comfort himself. Steve was thoroughly considering giving up and just going to punch his feelings out in the gym again, when he caught sight of his canvas. It had been recommended that he cover his canvas in a ‘liquid white’ substance, and despite the future’s prolifically wasteful nature, Steve was still frugal at heart. Oh well, waste not, want not, Steve was going to have to go through with the painting. 

He walked towards his easel, set up in front of his TV, that Natasha had shown him how to work, so he could follow instructions like the good soldier that people only saw. Steve tried to push the memories of the last time he had truly painted out of his mind. He didn’t want to think of Bucky, laughing while on a date, happiness extruding out of him. Happiness that Steve hadn’t seen since, especially not after Azzano. He didn’t want to think of Bucky, screaming, fruitlessly holding onto the bar while he plummeted to his death that awaited him at the bottom of the Alps. He didn’t want to think of Bucky. He didn’t want to think of Peggy and their missed dance. He didn’t want to think of the Howlies, too old to have the attitude they do. He didn’t want to think about how it felt like it was yesterday they were storming Nazi Germany, and how today he was sitting, all alone, in a futuristic dream. 

Steve growled and shook his head. He wasn’t doing this tonight. He grabbed the remote and jabbed the ‘on’ button. The program Dr. Banner had recommended to him appeared as the TV came to life. The man with the Afro, Robert Russo, or something akin to that opened his mouth. 

“Hi, welcome back. I’m certainly glad you could join me today. You ready to do a fantastic little painting with me? Super! Tell you what, let’s have them run all the colours across the screen that you need, to paint along with me.”

Steve suppressed a smile, what did you know, he was going to have a good night after all. This, Steve clicked a few buttons to get the presenter’s name to appear, Bob Ross fellow was calming to Steve’s chaotic thoughts. He relaxed and closed his eyes while Bob explained what size canvas he was using. His eyes snapped open as Bob said “let’s just do a fun painting today,” making Steve realise Bob had left him behind. Yes, a fun painting, exactly what he needed. Steve snatched up his pallet and dipped into his ‘Prussian Blue’, matching Bob, pointedly ignoring the parts of his brain that wanted to continue it’s lament over what they had lost. 

“We can do anything we want to do here,” Bob announced as he painted in some water. Steve sardonically thought it must be nice to be free like that, and not have to fit some moulds that were created for you seventy years ago. The Steve rolled his eyes at himself, this was supposed to relax him, and here he was getting jealous over some painted water. 

“That’s when you find out who your friends are,” Steve chuckled with Bob as he said the joke, but it felt empty. It just once more reminded him of the friends he no longer had. 

“Snap out of it,” he muttered, “it’s a joke about accidentally throwing a paintbrush, it’s not that deep.” 

“We’ll give him a friend,” Bob said, painting another ‘free’ cloud, seriously, being jealous of a fake cloud now. Steve could feel tears prickling at the corners of eyes, but stubbornly refused to let them fall. He was not going to cry over some damn clouds. Then Bob unleashed “when we were kids,” which definitely didn’t remind Steve of Bucky, and damn, he is going to cry over some stupid clouds. 

His tears only increased when Bob told him that they were going to be painting a “big, dark mountain,” making Steve think back to the last time he was on a big, dark mountain. Steve shook his head, upset that Bob would do this to him, when Steve definitely didn’t want to think of his dead best friend. Logically, Steve knew Bob wasn’t to blame, it was just a bad episode to pick tonight, but he still wanted someone to blame. 

When Bob said “painting should make you happy,” Steve had to stop, because if he was being honest with himself, this painting was not making him happy, which was the understatement of the century. Steve had let out an ugly sob and was crying so much he couldn’t see his stupid mountain, which was reminding him of the last stupid mountain where he had lost his best friend, and then the stupid ice where he had lost everything.

He had lost everything. 

The pain in his chest felt like Schmidt punching him. It felt like ice, cracking and then reforming quickly around him, freezing him. It felt like pneumonia on a collapsed lung. It felt like seventy years of grief. 

He had lost seventy years of his life. Everything was gone. He had no friends, only people who knew Captain America. He had lost everything, even Steven Grant Rogers, the plucky and hot headed boy from Brooklyn. He’d lost everyone who had ever cared about Steven Grant Rogers. 

Now all of Steve’s paints were drying out, because he’d spent so long feeling sorry for himself. That’s when Steve started crying heavily, entering the, well earned, mental breakdown. Disappointment over not finishing his painting mingling with the grief and overwhelming loneliness. Oh well, he’d started now, he may as well finish his breakdown. Better out than in, Steve remembered from that film with the green people Tony insisted they watched, to show Bruce he wasn’t alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original Bob Ross video - can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4vXB2R8ybDE)


	2. On A Clear Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two hours later found the Avengers enjoying a worryingly large pile of hot dogs by a stacked collection of rocks in Central Park.

A few habits are hard to shake, especially ones drilled into you by the Army during a literal war. Those habits could make all the difference between life or death. One of these particular habits that Steve hung onto was always being aware of what’s in his calendar. After all, sometimes it appeased Colonel Phillips to see that Steve could follow *some* kind of orders. 

When Steve woke up, he immediately knew Pepper hadn’t scheduled any *official* Avengers work for today, and he was as free as a superhero could be, meaning he could do whatever he felt like. Which today, was painting. Specifically a Bob Ross painting. 

Steve took a deep breath as he scrolled through all the episodes of ‘The Joy of Painting with Bob Ross’ he could pick from. He paused on ‘On a Clear Day’, hopeful that this one wouldn’t make him start crying. Steve clicked play and felt the tension, that he hadn’t even realised he had accumulated, flow from his frame as Bob’s soothing tones flooded his floor in the tower. 

“Welcome back, I’m glad to see you today. It’s a fantastic day here, and I hope it is, wherever you’re at. I tell you what, let’s just do a beautiful, little, colourful painting today. One that, it should make you happy. Let’s start out and have them run all the colours across the screen that you need to paint along with me.”

He grabbed his one inch brush in unison with Bob and was just about to start dabbing into the Titanium White when Jarvis, albeit sounding reluctant, announced that Tony was on his way to Steve’s floor. Steve huffed a deep sigh and just placed his brush down just as Tony waltzed in from the lift. 

“Captain Cool!” he exclaimed, flinging his arms wide, “how do you feel about spending a little time with the team outside of post alien invasion shawarma?”  
Steve opened his mouth to politely decline on the basis that he was already doing something, but Tony just steamrolled on. 

“Not that there’s anything wrong with having a meal after a big team battle, God, or whoever's up there, hey, that’s one thing I will admit to not knowing, knows is that super soldiers have a high metabolism. In fact, I was thinking that maybe we could make it a tradition, you know, finish off a battle that no regular human could realistically survive, then party hard with expensive food, paid for by yours truly?”

Steve was, in all honesty, a little lost. Tony could talk a mile a minute, and Steve was stuck trying to absorb all the information he was putting out, but it was hard when Tony didn’t slow down or take into account Steve’s lack of knowledge of most things from the 21st Century.

Once again Steve opened his mouth to politely decline, because he finally had the time to paint. But, when he looked into Tony’s eyes, Steve could see what the offer was covering. Tony Stark was not someone who Steve expected to be lonely. However, here Tony was, inviting Steve to spend time with their team, pretending that he wasn’t starved for human contact. When faced with this face on, Steve found that he couldn’t turn him down. Instead he smiled, said “lead the way” and definitely did not give a longing look at his easel and paints set out in front of the TV. 

Two hours later found the Avengers enjoying a worryingly large pile of hot dogs by a stacked collection of rocks in Central Park. Tony was filming Clint managing to wake himself up from food induced nap by dropping his remaining hot dog on his leg and smearing mustard over his self proclaimed “last pair of clean jeans”. Thor had exclaimed delight over the nature, squirrels, that Central Park had to offer, leading to Bruce offering to show Thor Central Park Zoo, which had far more exotic creatures than woodland animals. Natasha was filing her nails, determined to buff out the dirt that had managed to get caught in her manicure from her latest mission and Steve was content to sit by and try to commit the scenes to memory so he could sketch them later. 

Since they are the Avengers, it wasn’t long before they were recognised by another visitor. Usually the team would be more than happy to deal with the “adoring”, as Tony and Clint call them, members of the public before parting ways. But, as all of them knew all too well, not everything goes how they would like, and they could be stuck with another protester who claims the Avengers damage the city more than they protect it.

This time, a tall, lanky man with a rather bad sunburn spreading across his shoulders approached the team right before they set off to the Zoo. “Hey, Hot Stuff,” he said, trying to wink at Natasha, “you doing your nails so you look real pretty for me?” His voice cracked on “nails”, and Steve could see out the corner of his eye Bruce trying to hide his eye roll. The team paid Asshole, Steve so lovingly dubbed him, no mind and tried to walk away.   
“Hey, I’m talking to you, bitch,” Asshole cried, reaching for Natasha’s pale arm. 

The team erupted, Thor stepped in front of Asshole to prevent him getting any closer to Nat. Bruce was visibly listing the pros and cons of getting *very* angry, finding more pros than cons. Tony had moved closer to Asshole and started spewing parts of the law at him and announcing that he has the best lawyers money can buy and he won’t hesitate to sue Asshole until he had wished he had invested in some failed business or something of the like, Steve wasn’t sure. Steve had straightened his back, once more enjoying that he finally had the body to go with the boy from Brooklyn’s heart. Clint had started intensely flirting with Asshole, fluttering his lashes and thanking him for the compliment on his nails, saying that he had “got them done especially for him.” 

But, as Natasha gestured with her hand to leave Asshole be, they all stood back and Asshole smiled, confident that Black Widow was about to start hitting on him. Nat approached Asshole, looking believably weak and stopped in front of him, peering into Asshole’s eyes flirtatiously. That’s when her eyes turned cold and Asshole gulped. 

“Yeah,” she said, seductively, “I got my nails done especially for you,” she let her hands wander down her body to her waist, Asshole’s eyes followed hungrily but he froze when he saw what she had paused on. Her favourite combat knife, a black, thick beauty which had a decent weight and serrated edge. “Do you like it?” she asked, fluttering her lashes. Asshole nervously nodded. “Do you want to see it up close?” Asshole quickly shook his head. “Good,” she said, her voice hardening, “maybe next time you’ll think of it before you harass women.” Asshole nodded, sweat beginning to run down his forehead. Nat gestured for him to go, which he was all too glad to do and then turned to the team. 

“Thanks for having my back, boys,” she smiled gratefully at each of the team member in turn. 

“It is what having a teammate is for, Lady Natasha,” Thor said, returning her smile gracefully. 

“But, never assume I can’t handle myself,” she said, a little dangerously. 

“Heavens forbid!” Tony said dramatically, “I think you’re stronger than me.”

“No think about it, Stark,” Natasha said back, smirking. 

Tony grasped his chest in mock hurt while the rest snorted at the interaction.

“Come, Friends! Let us see the lion that derives from the sea!”

“For the last time, Thor, sea lions aren’t actual lions.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original Bob Ross video - can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e63Cgln6Yag)
> 
> Tried my best to write Tony, tell me how I did?


	3. Camper's Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, you got detention,” he started.

“Hi, welcome back. Certainly glad you could join me today. You got your old brush warmed up and ready to do a fantastic little painting? Good. Tell you what, let’s start out today and have them run all the colours along the screen that you need to paint along with me.” 

Steve glanced back towards the screen as ‘TITANIUM WHITE’ appeared at the bottom in yellow text. He breathed deeply as Bob’s soothing tones continued in the background, discussing the particular way he’s tapping the brush into the paint. Steve already knew the technique, he’d seen this specific episode three times before. The mountain view this episode produced was especially calming to him, however Steve didn’t quite know why. Sam suggested that it might be because Steve lives in the city and doesn’t get to see natural beauty anymore. Then he made Steve pay for their coffee, being his friend and sometimes therapist wasn’t free, after all. Steve reckoned that was fair and accepted it. 

The apartment was quiet, save for Bob’s murmurings coming from the large television Tony insisted he had installed. Despite living in his own apartment, Steve could not escape Tony’s lavish lifestyle and was forced into accepting his ‘help’, no matter how many times Steve tried to politely decline. Eventually Steve gave up, and let Tony share his fortune with him. Everyone could see it helped Tony to feel better about himself. As long as Steve could help someone feel better, he would put up with it. 

Just as Steve approached his canvas, brush and pallet in hand, ready to create a ‘Camper’s Heaven’, a sudden noise jolted him out of his tranquil state. His phone vibrated harshly against the kitchen counter and Steve rolled his eyes. Of course, just as he attempted to join Bob in painting one of his favourite scenes, he would be disturbed. Grumbling, Steve approached the counter and snatched it up, glaring at the offending item. A text from Jarvis, reminding him of the PSA’s he had to record that someone in the Government signed him up for. What a stupid idea, getting Steve Rogers, the guy who immediately disobeyed orders to go and rescue Bucky from behind enemy lines when there was a big chance he was dead already, to film a statement about how following the rules is ‘cool’. Although, they asked for Captain America, not Steve Rogers, so asking him to preach about right and wrong was, by their presumptions, right up his alley. 

Steve glanced around his impersonal apartment, turning his back on the blank canvas and tried to put it out of his mind. He was irrationally angry at the interruption, considering how he hadn’t started painting yet. But, he had covered it with a liquid white and Steve may not get back in time to use the canvas before the medium had dried. He knew it was unlikely, hence why his anger was so irrational, but this whole interruption had ruined his painting mood. The canvas was officially dead to him. Steve growled and jabbed the off button for the television, and stalked off to get ready. 

When he arrived at the set, Steve made sure to slam the door as hard as socially acceptable, because he’s petty. Some poor intern tried to hand him the ‘iconic’ version of his Captain American suit, which Steve made sure to accept with a mildly repulsed face, they had, after all, ruined his painting. 

Suited up, in front of the cameras and feeling stupid, Steve was reminded of his old USO tours. He shut his eyes tightly and minutely shook his head to banish the opening bars of ‘Star Spangled Man With a Plan’ from his mind. For a fleeting moment, he was glad Bucky had seemingly dropped off the face of the Earth. If he could see Steve now, Steve would never hear the end of it. 

“Alright, Cap,” Steve discreetly rolled his eyes at the title, “we’d like for you to do the detention one next, if you please.”

If he pleased, as if he could say no. Steve took a deep breath and tried to loosen up, once it was done, it was done. “So, you got detention,” he started, “you screwed up. You know what you did was wrong, the question is, how are you going to make things right? Maybe you were trying to be cool. Take it from a guy who's been frozen for 65 years,” another wary eye roll, “the only way to really be cool, is to follow the rules.” What a load of horseshit, everything Steve stood for contradicted this message. But whatever, they’re using it to teach kids to be respectful. Kids these days, they’re nothing like they used to be in the 1930’s. Just another harsh reminder of how things had changed, another harsh reminder of how out of touch Steve is. 

“Okay, that’s great, Cap! Onto the virtues of patience.” 

Steve looked to the ceiling, praying for some kind of release. Well, here goes nothing. “Hi, I’m Captain America, here to talk to you about one of the most valuable traits a soldier or student can have. Patience. Sometimes, patience is the key to victory, sometimes, it leads to very little and it seems like it’s not worth it. You wonder why you waited for so long, for something so disappointing.” Steve mentally shuddered at doing anymore of these ridiculous PSA’s. With only the slightest thought spared for his ruined canvas, which could be saved if he finished these videos quickly. Steve leaned to the left, “how many more of these?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original Bob Ross video - can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C34WAUgkAT0)
> 
> the Rappin' With Cap video - can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ)


	4. Sunset Aglow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You want to come to my mama’s?” Sam asked.

After Steve had returned from his run, the sun was rising over the Brooklyn skyline, painting the sky with a peachy orange, pale pink and a tiny hint of blue. Steve watched the imperceptible slow ascent of the sun and felt a small feeling of contentment. There was something about watching a new day start that Steve had always found comfort in. Plus, the colours in the sky really appealed to the artist in Steve. When he was younger he wished he was able to capture the beauty in the merge of nature and man made, but he could never afford all the colours he would need. However, that wasn’t a problem today. Steve turned to the canvas, covered in liquid white, set up on his right and smiled.

Cautiously he glanced around his apartment to check if he was alone. Seeing it was empty, Steve hit the ‘play’ button on his remote and the television sprang to life. 

“Ah, hey! Welcome back, certainly glad you could join us today. I thought today we’d do a painting that, just has a lot of colour in it, one that would make you feel good inside. So, let's start out and have them run all the colours across the screen that you need to paint along with us.” Bob’s calming tones gently filled the apartment as he went on to describe what kind of canvas he was using this episode. Steve smiled and grabbed his two inch brush, using it to drag down his ‘Indian Yellow’. He placed it onto the canvas and did the classic ‘x’ technique that Bob was always raving about. Steve felt another smile tug at his lips as his sunrise began to come to life. 

By the time Steve had added the ‘Yellow Ochre’, ‘Bright Red’ and his lavender colour created from ‘Phthalo Blue’ and ‘Alizarin Crimson’ to his canvas, the sun had completely risen. He was jolted out of his quiet state by a pounding on his door. Perfect timing. 

“You better have OJ, man, I had to run twice as hard to make sure I held up next to you,” Sam yelled from the other side of Steve’s front door. Scowling, Steve jabbed the off button on the remote. Why did he ever think he could paint? Of course something would turn up, something always did. He stalked over to his door and threw it open, revealing something to be a sweat-covered Sam.

Steve moved to the side to let him in, “what do you want?” he asked impatiently. Later he would regret speaking to Sam like that, but he ruined his sunrise. Was it too much to ask to be allowed to paint in peace? Sam walked into the apartment and flung open the fridge, grabbing the orange juice and chugging it straight from the carton. Apparently it was. 

“Get a glass, you disgusting goblin man.” 

Sam snorted, orange juice spraying from what seemed to be every orifice. Gross. “Goblin man?” Sam asked incredulously, humour seeping into his tone. 

Steve shrugged, “I’m up to date with the memes now.” Sam shook his head, a smile tinging his face. 

“Yeah, you’re really hip,” they grinned at each other. 

“Why are you here Sam, not that I’m not happy to see you spraying my orange juice everywhere,” Steve said, not unkindly, “but I was kinda in the middle of something,” he gestured at his started sunrise. 

“Oh man, I feel bad now, I know you don’t get much time to paint,” Sam approached the painting, “that looks real good, is that a Bob Ross technique?” 

Steve shook his head, a subdued smile on his face, “it’s okay. I just sometimes get the feeling that I’m never going to be able to finish one of these paintings,” he laughed at the end to show Sam that he’s not that angry about it. Really, he isn’t. 

“You want to come to my mama’s?” Sam asked, unveiling the true reason for his surprise visit. Steve thought it over. 

“Sure. I’d love to meet Mrs. Wilson.” 

“Come on then. Just call her Mama Wilson.”

Mama Wilson was a plump, short woman who smelled like coconut oil and gave very warm, comforting hugs. She fussed over Steve like he was one of her own children, and he very nearly shed a tear at having motherly affection for the first time in about seventy seven years. Mama Wilson made him sit next to Sam at the large kitchen table along with three of Sam’s siblings, not all of whom were biologically related, but were still considered Mama Wilson’s children all the same. Sam’s youngest sister, Hope, smiled widely at Steve while placing the sugar bowl on the table. 

“You got any good stories about Bird Brain there?” Hope asked, jabbing her thumb in the direction of Steve. Sam growled at Hope, who gave him a shit eating grin in response. Sam’s twin brother, Michael, kicked Hope under the table, making her drop the strawberries she was carrying and glare at him. 

“If you’re trying to embarrass Sam, at least tell the stories about him. Remember, we have a whole childhood to retell,” he said, winking at Steve. The whole table laughed and Mama Wilson bustled over. 

“Sit down, Hope, you know the rule,” Mama gestured with her hands and the breakfast group erupted into “everyone sits before anyone eats.” Mama nodded and Hope sat down. 

“Steve, do you say grace?” Mama asked politely, as the table guests joined hands. 

“When we had food, we did. Lot of things we were grateful back then. Lot of things I’m still grateful for.” Mama smiled genuinely at him, and outright beamed when he joined the others in holding hands. 

“Not all of us are religious, but we all like to say grace. Just to keep us humble and remind us to be grateful.” Steve nodded in understanding and closed his eyes along with the others. “Bless us, oh Lord, or whomever you believe in,” Mama’s deep tone started, “for these thy gifts that we're about to receive from thy bounty through Christ our Lord, Amen.”

“Amen,” the table chanted. Then breakfast began. Banana pieces and blueberries were argued over, sugar was snatched from under people’s noses and Sam did his best to drink all the orange juice. Steve watched all the chaos unfold, feeling like he was a part of the family. 

Steve leaned over to Sam and whispered in his ear, “why did you invite me? Not that I’m upset you did, I’m just wondering.”

Sam gave him a shit eating grin, much like Hope had done earlier, “someone had to distract you from moping over Greasy.” Steve laughed until he cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original Bob Ross video - can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gMEZp47VKC0&t=)
> 
> Sam and Mama Wilson truly are the MVPs.


	5. Warm Winter Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you actually come to tell me something?” Steve prompted. 
> 
> Sam appeared to be thinking for a while, but then remembered. “We found him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all ever watched the Bob Ross stream on twitch? They go crazy when he paints a cabin, that's why I chose this particular episode.

The clicking of the lock was like music to Steve’s ears. He wasn’t becoming a shut in, Sam, shut up. He just really wanted to follow a Bob Ross tutorial, for once, without being interrupted. He promised he would spend time with the team, just as soon as he finishes this. God, he hasn’t sounded that whiny since 1931. He could see why his mom got annoyed with him sometimes. 

Anyway, he’s tired, he’s been chasing Bucky for months now, night after night on lumpy mattresses in not quite dark rooms has left him perpetually tired. He’s 98 goddamn years old, if he wanted to whinge, he would. 

Eventually, Steve mustered the energy to move towards his easel, scooping the remote off the coffee table and turning on the TV. Steve picked his episode of ‘The Joy of Painting with Bob Ross’, and watched as the man he’d come to think of as a friend came to life. 

“Welcome back, glad you could join me today.” Steve’s sleep deprived brain admired Bob’s subtle pink shirt. “Today, I thought we’d do a nice beautiful little winter’s scene, that's sort of warm and has a beautiful little glow in it and I think it’ll make you happy. So, let’s have them start off and run all the colours across the screen that you need to do this painting, and they’ll come across in the same order as I have them on my pallet.”

Something about the similarity of how Bob started each of his episodes was calming to Steve. Perhaps it was because in a time where nothing was familiar, it created a routine. Now, it was just nice to come back to something that no matter how he felt, would never treat him differently. Maybe Sam was right. He usually was, although Steve wasn’t going to tell him that. He’d never shut up about it. 

Steve picked up his one inch brush and used it to drag his ‘Cadmium Yellow’ downwards. He supposed that, despite everything else changing, painting would always be his escape. Without it, he would’ve driven his mother and Bucky mad before his eleventh birthday. When he paints he can almost feel them bustling around him, trying to cook or repair whatever shoddy thing had broken this week. He misses them, especially when he knows that Bucky could be anywhere, but painting makes him feel closer to them, closer to the 1940s. 

He watched as he swirled the yellow around his palette, trying to create art out of the different textures and layers. He was seriously sleep deprived. Maybe he should just go to bed. 

The abrupt thudding on his door made Steve jolt out of his sleepy reverie. Only one person knocked, which politely describes the action, like that. Steve stumbled over to the door, and opened it to reveal an equally tired Sam. 

“There better be a good reason for this man, because I am painting and then going to bed,” Steve said, trying to sound stern, but failing when his face cracked open in two due to a massive yawn. 

“Dude, cover your mouth, don’t you know yawns are -” Sam yawned, “contagious?” 

“You dragged me away to tell me that-” Steve yawned again, “yawns are contagious?”

“Just cover your mouth before-” Sam yawned again, successfully covering his mouth, “we get stuck in a yawn loop.” Steve rolled his eyes, thanks, Sam, for disrupting his painting to tell him that yawns are contagious. He actually did know that, he wasn’t that old. 

They stood in silence for a while, just looking at each other. “Did you actually come to tell me something?” Steve prompted. 

Sam appeared to be thinking for a while, but then remembered. “We found him.” 

Steve was suddenly wide awake. “Him as in…” 

“We found Barnes.” Sam smiled at Steve, “we did it, man.” 

“Where? How? What’s he like?” 

“How do you want me to answer that?” 

“I don’t care, how did you find him?” 

“Oh! He walked up to the front door and pressed the button to call our apartment.” 

“So we didn’t find him? He found us?” 

“We’ve been looking for this guy for months, can we not just say we found him? Save our pride?” Steve considered it, and quickly nodded. That made utter sense. Just like Sam always does. 

“Hey, thanks, I do always make sense, don't I?” Oops. Steve must’ve said that out loud, he may be more tired than he realised. 

“Is he okay?” 

“I don’t know. I didn’t speak to him. He’s not my friend, he ripped out my steering wheel.” Steve knew that Sam wasn’t trying to be mean, it was the exhaustion talking. 

“I’m going to talk to him.” 

“Steve,” despite Sam’s earlier state of exhaustion, Steve could tell Sam was still thinking quite clearly, “I physically can not stop you, but be careful. He’s still dangerous and got a whole load of trauma. At least take the shield.” Steve nodded, grabbing it from its spot next to their front door. He turned and saluted Sam, who snorted and pushed him towards the door. 

Steve took a deep breath before running as quickly as he could down the apartment block’s stairwell. This one had an overwhelming smell of something Steve didn’t want to think about, badly covered up by gratuitous amounts of cheap air freshener. He skipped the final step, knowing that the wood had begun to rot and that too much weight on the abused step would make it finally give in. Steve did not want to be the one paying for all of that damage. 

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts and get himself to focus. When he’s anxious and not on the battlefield his mind tends to wander. He had to focus. He was about to see Bucky. Bucky! Maybe this time he can convince him to stay. All thoughts of Bob Ross and his painting left him the moment he caught a glimpse of a familiar clump of brown hair. It was much longer than he was used to it being. Steve saw light blue eyes, the same he used to know by heart from endless hours of drawing them, haunted but the same. He saw the same mouth, slightly more chapped but still twisted up into a small grin, reserved only for Steve. 

“Hey Stevie,” he rasped, voice rough from disuse, “heard you were lookin’ for me.” 

Steve’s smile went embarrassingly watery as he ran forward to engulf him in a hug. “Hey Bucky,” he whispered into Bucky’s hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original Bob Ross video - can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mUJoNLWQ1yI&t=)
> 
> I was really tired when I wrote this, which is why it's worse than usual. Tell me if you agree. Also, is that a slight Phil Swift reference?


	6. Twin Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He could stop them, or, and this was a very appealing or, he could finish his painting.

Normally Steve walked around the compound grounds to relax. But, today he was on a mission. Not official Avenger’s business, but still important. He had to make sure nobody was around. So far the ground floor and the first floor were clear, and Steve was just finishing looping around the gardens where he had, fortunately, not come across anybody. 

He tried to engage the espionage skills that everyone says he lacks on his way back to his area, hoping he was sneaky enough that no one would see him. Steve arrived at the door to his area without seeing anyone, take that Nat, he could be a spy if he wanted. He just didn’t want to. 

When Steve walked through the door and saw Bucky sitting in the armchair looking out the large window, Steve found he didn’t mind as much as he thought he would. Bucky used to love watching Steve paint and now he was good at being silent. 

Tomorrow Steve would feel slightly bad for actively avoiding his team, but right now he did not care. He had been waiting for so damn long to finally be able to follow a Bob Ross video.   
Steve turned on the TV, leaving a corner of the screen clear, specifically for a camera feed from Friday and selected an episode of ‘The Joy of Painting with Bob Ross’. He made sure the volume was low in case somehow someone noticed he was trying to paint and interrupted him, like they always did. He looked around shiftily before hitting play. 

“Hi, glad to see you today. You got your oil paints all put out and ready to do a fantastic painting? Good. Let’s get started. Tell you what, let’s have them graphically run all the colours across the screen that you need, to do this painting, and they come across in the same order as I have them on the pallet.” Steve let a tiny, blissful smile grow while Bob explained, like always, about his liquid white. He let his attention refocus on the screen when Bob said “so, I thought today we’d do a happy little painting, one that'll really make you feel good in here.”

For the first time in a long time, Steve realised that he really did feel good. He had his two best friends, his family. He realised that despite losing everything, Steve had managed to rebuild. He had a life now, and he wouldn’t give that up for anything. 

Steve and Bob mixed their ‘Midnight Black’ and ‘Pthalo Blue’ in unison while Steve reflected on the life he never thought he’d get to have. Not everything was perfect, and it never would be. But it was good enough. Steve found himself thinking that he didn’t want anything more. He looked over his shoulder at Bucky, who was watching where Steve’s brush went intently. Sometimes it helped both of them, knowing that they were able to create something beautiful. To know that they didn’t only destroy. 

He paused the video. “You can join me if you want.” 

Bucky shook his head slightly, “it’s clear you wanted to be left alone. I’m happy to just watch, reminds me of our old apartment.” 

Steve smiled at him, “never would’a thought we’d be livin’ this life back then, huh pal?” They both gave a quiet chuckle. 

“Don’t know how many shifts I would’a haft’a work to get you this many different colours.”

“Like you wouldn’t’a just stolen them,” Steve said, winking at Bucky. Bucky bit his lip and looked away, cheeks tinged with pink. 

“Look at you now,” Bucky said once he had regained his composure, looking straight at Steve, “livin’ the dream.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, looking right at Bucky, “living the dream.” Bucky looked away, flushing, once more. Steve snickered under his breath. 

Steve hit play once more, determined to finally finish his painting, even if he had to pause it a thousand times. He was just starting to add the green colour atop his plains when Bucky quietly cleared his throat. 

“So, why did you never finish one of these?” 

Steve breathed in, held it and released the breath slowly, praying that he wouldn’t get angry. He was in the *zone* and it sucked to be disturbed. He paused the video, he did say even if he had to pause it a thousand times. Steve looked at Bucky, and saw his smug grin, no doubt stemming from Steve’s clear frustration at being interrupted. 

“Absolute asswipe. That’s what you are. You’re not ‘the fist of Hydra’, or ‘a danger to society’, you’re an asswipe.” Bucky just grinned, the insults rolling off of him. When it was clear that Bucky was also waiting for an answer, not just trying to get a rise out of Steve, he cleared his throat. “Well, I tried my best, but something kept cropping up. If it wasn’t team building or Avenger business, it was Sam dragging me around, making me experience the 21st century,” Steve and Bucky both shuddered, remembering Sam making them eat raw fish, claiming it was a dish called sushi. In their day, food was cooked. 

“I told you your art would be worth something someday,” Bucky grinned at him, today was clearly a good day for him, “got god knows how many original Steve Rogers’ I owned,” he raised his eyebrows and smirked, “could’a been rich.”

They both burst out laughing. Steve realised how much he had missed this, how much he had missed being seen as Steven Rogers. 

“Tell you what, you let me paint in peace, I give you this one.” 

“Nah, you keep it. I can see it anytime, I’m not planning on leaving anytime soon.”

Steve smiled so wide it hurt his cheeks, “good,” he said, turning away before he started crying and had to quit again. 

The camera feed in the corner of the screen announced some movement approaching the area. Sam’s new converse were just coming into frame, followed by the man himself. Steve groaned internally, he loved Sam, he really did. But if he didn’t leave him alone for the next, he clicked a button to see the remaining time, 19 minutes, Sam was going to be covered in oil paint. Just as Steve had composed himself, Sam knocked on the door. 

Sam gave Steve a surprised smile, “hey man, thought you were off doing shady shit, you looked shifty earlier.” 

“Yeah, I’m trying to paint,” Steve said coolly, trying to act annoyed. The act was up the moment Sam raised his eyebrow at Steve. 

“Well, have fun with that, I’m actually here to see if Beefy,” he raised his voice on ‘Beefy’, directing it at Bucky. 

“Don’t call me that!” 

“To see if Beefy wanted to watch a tape I found from the war, might help his memory.” Steve’s smile grew wider, if that was possible. His two best friends were finally getting along. 

“Oh yeah? It any good?” Steve asked. 

Sam smirked at him. “Oh yeah. I think it’s called ‘The Star Spangled Man With a Plan’.” Steve felt the colour drain from his face as Bucky and Sam started to crack up. “I found these new ones as well, called ‘Rappin’ with Cap.’” Sam and Bucky started to laugh so hard they had tears forming in the corners of their eyes. 

“Get out of my area,” Steve said, suppressing a grin. It was good to see them both laughing this hard. 

“Gladly, Captain.” They said in unison, snapping off mock salutes. Steve rolled his eyes, the urge to laugh growing each second. This, like ‘Language!’, wasn’t going away anytime soon. He could stop them, or, and this was a very appealing or, he could finish his painting. 

He’d already lost his dignity when they made him a show girl. He glanced at his canvas and picked up his brush. “Fuck it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original Bob Ross video - can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cMwkY8ojRik&t=)
> 
> Thus, we have reached the thrilling conclusion of my Steve Rogers following Bob Ross tutorials fic. Let me know if you enjoyed, or check me out on tumblr at : restinreesespieces 
> 
> Have a great day and remember that we don't make mistakes, we create happy accidents.


End file.
